CHAPTER X.
HOW TWO OLD FRIENDS CAME TO EPSOM.
The Doctor's letter had informed us of the liberation of Mr. Stallabrasand Sir Miles Lackington; but we were not prepared for their arrivalat Epsom. They came, however, travelling together by the coach, theirobject being not so much, I believe, to visit the watering-place ofEpsom or to enjoy its amusements, as to renew certain honourableproposals, formerly made in less happy times, to Kitty Pleydell.
Naturally, we were at first somewhat perturbed, fearing the scandalshould certain tongues spread abroad the truth as to our residence inthe Fleet.
"My dear," said Mrs. Esther, with a little sigh, "my mind is made up.We will go to Tunbridge out of their way."
This was impossible, because they would follow us. For my own part,I looked upon the Fleet Rules with less shame than poor Mrs. Esther.To her, the memory of the long degradation was infinitely painful.For everybody, certainly, a time of degradation, however unmerited,is never a pleasant thing to remember. I think that the whole army ofmartyrs must agree together in forgetting the last scenes of theirearthly pilgrimage. The buffetings, strippings, scourgings, roastings,burnings, and hangings, the long time of prison, the starvation, theexpectancy and fear--the going forth to meet the hungry lion and theruthless tiger--surely it cannot be comfortable to remember these?No martyr on the roll had ever been more innocent or undeserving ofpunishment than Mrs. Esther Pimpernel: no sufferer ever complainedless: but she loved not to think of the past, nor to be reminded of itby the arrival of one whom she had known there.
Nevertheless, when Sir Miles Lackington presented himself at ourlodging, he was received with a gracious friendliness.
His newly recovered liberty made little alteration in the appearanceof this prodigal son. His dress was worn in the same easy disorder,the ruffles being limp, his wig tied carelessly, the lace upon his hattorn, as if in some scuffle, and the buckles of his shoes were an oddpair. His face preserved the same jolly content, as if the gifts ofFortune were to be regarded no more than her buffeting.
"We are always," said my guardian, with a little hesitation, "we arealways glad to welcome old friends--even friends in common misfortune.But, Sir Miles, it is not well to remind us--or--or to talk to othersof those unhappy days."
He laughed.
"I remember them not," he said. "I never remember any day but thepresent. Why should we remember disagreeable things? Formerly weborrowed; now we lend: let us go on lending till we have to borrowagain. Do you remember Mr. Stallabras the poet?"
Surely, we remembered Solomon.
"He goes abroad now in a silk-lined coat with lace ruffles. He hasbought a new wig and started a subscription list for a new poem, havingeaten up the last before the poem was written. I subscribed for threecopies yesterday, and we pretended, both of us, he that he did notwant the money, and I that I had always had it. Without forgetting andpretending, where should we be?"
"Indeed," said Mrs. Esther, "one would not willingly either forget orpretend. But some things are best remembered in silence. The memory ofthem should keep us humble, Sir Miles."
"I do not wish to be humble," replied the baronet. "Humble people donot sing and drink, nor gamble, nor make love. They go in sadness andwith hanging heads. I would still go proud."
While he was with us came Solomon himself, bravely dressed indeed, withabout an ell of ribbon tied around his throat, a new and fashionablewig, and bearing himself with all the dignity possible in a poet offive-feet-three. His chin was in the air and his hat under his armwhen he marched into the little room.
I shook hands with him, and whispered to him not to mention the wordFleet. Thereupon he advanced to Mrs. Esther with such a bow as wouldhave graced a court, saying--
"Madam, I have had the honour of being presented to you in London, butI know not if I am still distinguished by your recollection."
"Sir," said Mrs. Esther, "that person must indeed be blind to merit whocan forget Mr. Stallabras, the favourite of the Muses."
"O madam! this compliment----"
"O sir! our hearts are not so insensible as to forget those delightfulverses, which should be the glory of an unthinking age."
I asked him then if he had received a bequest.
"I have found what is better," he said, "a female Maecenas. The virtuesof antiquity linger only in the breasts of the fair. She is a personof singularly cold and calm judgment. Despreaux himself had not acooler head or a sounder critical faculty. Therefore, when such alady prophesies immortal renown to a poet, that poet may congratulatehimself. I am poet laureate to Lady Tamarind, relict of Sir JosephTamarind, brewer and sometime sheriff in the City of London. Herladyship's taste is considered infallible in all subjects, whetherchina, tulips, plays, pictures, fans, snuff-boxes, black boys, orpoets."
His eyes twinkled so brightly, his turn-up nose seemed so joyfully tosniff the incense of praise, prosperity had already made his cheeks sosleek and fat, that we could hardly recognise our starveling poet.
"The taste," said Mrs. Esther, "of a woman who recognises the merit ofyour verses, Mr. Stallabras, is beyond a doubt."
He rubbed his hands and laughed.
"I was already out--" he began, but as we all manifested the greatestconfusion at the beginning of this confession, he stopped and turnedred. "I mean I was--I was----"
"You were beginning, I think," I interrupted, "to open a newsubscription."
"Thank you, Miss Kitty," he replied. "I was--as soon as I left theRu--I mean, as soon as I could, I went round among my patrons with myproject. This lady immediately bought all my previous poems, includingthe translation of 'Lucretius,' which the rascal publisher declared hadbeen his ruin, when he went bankrupt, and presented me with a hundredguineas, with which I was enabled"--here he surveyed his person withsatisfaction, and raised one leg to get a better view of his stockingsand shoe-buckles--"I was enabled to procure garments more suitable to apersonage of ambition, and to present myself to the honourable companyassembled at Epsom on a footing of easy equality."
"But a hundred guineas will not last for ever," I said, thinking of thesums of money which I had already spent on frocks and ribbons since wecame from London.
"That is not all," he said; "I have my new volume of poems, which hasbeen subscribed by Lady Tamarind and her friends. This is a change,is it not, Miss Kitty? Formerly, when I was in the Ru--I mean, beforemy good fortune came--a sixpenny ordinary was beyond me: I have livedupon half-a-crown for a week: I have written lines on a 'Christian'sJoys' when starving: and I have composed the 'Lamentations of a Sinner'when contemplating suicide as the only relief from my troubles.Now--now--how different! Fortune's wheel has turned--Fame is mine. Andas for poems, I can write as many as I please to give the world, andalways find a subscription list ready to my hand. This brain, MissKitty, like the Fountain of Helicon, will run for ever: that is, whilelife and Lady Tamarind remain."
"The stream may get muddy sometimes," said Sir Miles, with a smile.
Fate, which condemns poets to poverty, also compensates them with hope.If they are in present sunshine, it will last for ever: if in coldneglect, the future will give what the past has refused: posteritywill continue to wave the censing-pot and send up wreaths of spicysmoke, a continual flow, grateful to the blessed Spirit above: so that,fortunate or in neglect, they dwell in a perpetual dream, which keepsthem ever happy.
Then the sanguine bard drew forth his new subscription list.
"I call it," he said, "by the modest title of a 'Project for thePublication of a New Collection of Odes and Heroic Pieces,' by SolomonStallabras, Esquire. I am aware that my birth gives no warrant for theassumption of the rank of Esquire, but Lady Tamarind is good enoughto say that the possession of genius lifts a man to the level of thegentry, if not the nobility of the country."
"It does, Solomon; it does," said Sir Miles.
"I venture, ladies, therefore," he said, taking a pencil from hispocket, "to solicit your honoured names as subscribers for this pooreffort of
a (perhaps) too ambitious brain. The poems, when completed,will be printed in royal quarto, with the portrait of the author as heappears crowned by Fame, while the Graces (draped for the occasion inthe modern taste) stand behind him: Cupid will raise aloft the trumpetof Fame: the Muses will be seen admiring from a gentle eminence whichrepresents Parnassus: Apollo will be figured presenting the poet withhis own lyre, and the sacred stream will flow at his feet--my owndesign. In the distance the skin of Marsyas will hang upon a tree, as awarning to the presumption of rivals. The work will be bound in calf,and will be issued at the price of two guineas. For that small sum,ladies, Solomon Stallabras offers a copy of his poems."
"O Mr. Stallabras!" cried Mrs. Esther, "for so charming a picture Iwould give not two but twenty guineas, to say nothing of the poems.Go on, dear sir; raise our thoughts to virtue, and strengthen ourinclinations in the path of duty. Poets, indeed, make the way to heavena path of roses."
Now here was a change from old times! Solomon flourishing asubscription list in lace and silk, and Mrs. Esther offering guineasby the dozen! Sir Miles, who was leaning by the window just as he hadbeen wont to do in our poor lodging, nodded and laughed, unseen by Mrs.Esther.
"Permit me, sir," she said, "if you will be so good, to put my namedown for----"
"O madam!"
The poet bowed low and brandished his pencil.
"For ten copies of this immortal work, in one of which I would ask youto write your name, in your own hand, for the enrichment of the volumeand the admiration of posterity."
"Madam," said Solomon, with emotion, "I will write my name in the wholeten."
"And, dear sir, one copy for Miss Kitty."
"Such generosity! such princessly, noble patronage of the PoeticalArt!" he fairly chuckled as he wrote down the names. "Eleven copies!Twenty-two guineas! This is indeed to realise fame."
He received the money, which Mrs. Esther paid him with a countenanceall smiles, although he vainly tried to throw into his expression thepride of the poet, to whom money is but filthy lucre.
We then conversed on Epsom and its beauties, and as the gentlemen hadas yet seen none of them, I proposed to lead them to the Downs, whenceI promised them such a landscape as should infinitely rejoice theireyes. They accepted with expressions of gratitude, and we started.When, however, we came to the doors of the Spread Eagle, Sir Milesrecollected that at twelve he always took a tankard of cool October forthe good of his health. He therefore left us, promising to follow. Butas he did not come, and we saw him no more that day, I suppose he foundthe society of the tankard more enchanting than that of Kitty Pleydell.We therefore walked up the hill alone, and presently stood upon theopen down, which commands so noble a view. The place was quite desertedthat day, save for a single group of gentlemen, who were conducting amatch, but so far off that we heard not their voices.
I took advantage of this solitude to convey to the poet an instructionthat it would be better not to talk freely at Epsom concerning suchvicissitudes of fortune as we had experienced. I pointed out to himthat until Mrs. Esther's position was securely fixed it might do herinjury to have her story garbled by censorious tongues; that, for hisown sake, his late connection with the Liberties of the Fleet wouldbe better concealed; and that, for myself, although it mattered less,because I was never a prisoner while yet an inmate of the Rules, I didnot wish my story, such as it was, to be passed about the Wells, andmangled in the telling.
Mr. Stallabras declared stoutly that he would not for worlds reveal oneword about the past--for my sake.
"Nay," I said, "not for mine, but for the sake of that dear lady towhom you owe so much."
"It is true," he said; "I owe her even life. She hath fed me from herslender stores when I was starving. And when no one would even read myverses she would learn them by heart and repeat them with tears. Forher sake, then, if not for yours."
Then his face assumed an expression like unto that with which he hadonce before made me an offer of his hand, and I knew that he was goingto do it again. If such a thing is going to be done, the sooner it isover the better. Therefore I waited with calmness, hoping that theparoxysm would be short and not violent.
"Miss Kitty," he began, turning very red, "some time ago I waspenniless, almost starving, and detained in the (absurdly called)Liberties of the Fleet for the amount of forty pounds sixteen shillingsand eightpence--a sum so small that it made me blush to confess it,most of my friends in the same place being incarcerated for substantialsums of hundreds and even thousands. In this difficult position, whichrequired the philosophy of a Stoic to endure with resignation, I hadthe temerity to offer my hand to the most beautiful woman in the world.I have often, since, wondered at my own audacity and her gentlenesswhile she refused so presumptuous a proposal."
"Indeed, Mr. Stallabras," I said, "you conferred great honour upon me."
He bowed.
"The position of affairs," he went on, "is now changed. The poet'sbrows are crowned with bays by the hand of a lady as skilled in poetsas she is in pug-dogs; his pockets are lined with guineas; as for theFleet Rules--I whistle the memory of the place to the winds. Phew! itis gone, never to return: I see before me a long and great future,when booksellers will compete for the honour of publishing me, andthe greatest lords and ladies in the land will rush to subscribe forcopies. Like Shakespeare, I shall amass a fortune: like Prior, I shallreceive offers of embassies: like Addison and Chaucer, I shall beplaced in posts of honour and profit."
"I hope, Mr. Stallabras," I said, "that such will indeed be yourfuture."
"Do you really hope so, Miss Kitty?" His face flushed again, and I wasquite sorry for him, knowing the pain I was about to inflict upon him."Do you hope so? Then that emboldens me to say--Fairest of your sex,divine nymph, accept the homage of a poet: be celebrated for ever inhis immortal verse. Be my Laura! Let me be thy Petrarch!"
"I will," I replied. "I accept that offer joyfully. I will be to youwhat Laura was to Petrarch, if that will content you."
I gave him my hand, which he seized with rapture.
"Oh, beautiful Kitty!" he cried, with such joy in his eyes that Irepented having said so much, "fortune has now bestowed upon me all Iask. When, goddess, wilt thou crown my happiness!"
"It is already crowned," I replied. "I have given you, Mr. Stallabras,all you asked for. Let me remind you that you yourself told me thestory of Petrarch's love. I will be your Laura, but I must have theliberty of doing what Laura did--namely, the right to marry some oneelse."
His face fell.
"Oh!" he murmured. "Why did I not say Heloise?"
"Because she was shut up in a convent. Come, Mr. Stallabras, let usremain friends, which is far better for both of us, and less tryingto the temper than being lovers. And I will help you with yoursubscription-book. As for being married, you would tire of me in aweek."
Upon this he fell to protesting that it was impossible for any man totire of such a paragon among women, and I dare say the poor deludedcreature really meant what he said, because men in love are blind.When this failed to move me, he lamented his ill-fortune in havingplaced his hopes upon the heart of a beautiful statue as cold as Dian.Nor was it until he had prophesied death to himself and prayed forruin and loss of his fame, both of which, he said, were now useless,or comparatively useless to him, that I succeeded in making him, toa certain extent, reasonable, and calming his anger. He really hadthought that so grand an offer of marriage with a poet, whom he placedon about the same level with Homer, would tempt any woman. Accordingto some detractors of the fair sex, every woman believes that everyman must fall in love with her: but I am sure that there is no man whodoes not believe that he is irresistible when once he begins to show apreference or an inclination.
I then persuaded him, with honeyed words, to believe in my sorrow thatI was not able to accept his proposals; and I added that as he had bythis time sufficiently admired the beauties of the landscape, we mightreturn to the town, when I should have the honour of presenting him tosome of the
better sort among the visitors.
He came down the hill with me, sighing after the manner of poets inlove, and panting a little, because he was fat and short of breath, andI walked fast.
We found the Terrace crowded with people congregated for the morningtalk; the breakfasts being all eaten, the tea-drinking over, morningprayers finished, and the music playing merrily.
I presented the poet to Lady Levett as an ingenious gentleman whoseverses, known all over town, were doubtless already well known to herladyship. She had not the hardness of heart to deny knowledge of thepoet, and gave him a kindly welcome to Epsom, where, she said, she hadno doubt whatever but that he would meet with the reception due toqualities of such distinction.
Then I ventured to suggest that Mr. Stallabras was receiving names fora subscription edition of his new poems. Lady Levett added hers, andbegged the poet to visit her at her lodging, where she would dischargeher debt.
In the course of an hour I presented Stallabras to young LordEardesley, Harry Temple, and half the gentlemen at the Wells, askingof each a subscription to the poems, so that the fortunate poet foundhimself some fifty guineas the richer by his morning's work.
"Miss Kitty," he said humbly, "I knew not, indeed, that you were sogreat a lady. The 'Queen of the Wells,' I am told. Not but all who knowyour worth and kindness must rejoice at this signal triumph. I nowplainly see why I must be content with the lot of Petrarch."
Once launched in society, the poet became quickly a kind of celebrity.Just as, in some years, a watering-place would boast of having amongits visitors such famous men as Dr. Johnson, Mr. Garrick, or Mr.Richardson, so now it pointed to Mr. Stallabras, and said to strangers,"See! The great Mr. Stallabras! The illustrious poet!"
He, like all men born in London, was equal to the opportunity, and roseon the wave of fashion; his subscription-list kept mounting up; hesent his poems to the press; he received proofs and read them beneaththe portico, which he compared to the columns where the Roman poetshad been accustomed to read their compositions. We gathered roundand listened; we cried, with our handkerchiefs to our eyes: "O Mr.Stallabras, how fine! how wondrous pathetic! how just!" Then would hebow and twist, and wave his hand, and wag his head.
He became an oracle, and, like all oracles in the matter of taste, hequickly learned to give the law. He affected to understand pictures,and talked about the "brio" of one painter, and the "three-lights" ruleof another; he was very sarcastic in the matter of poetry, and wouldallow but two good poets in the century--himself and Mr. AlexanderPope; in the region of romance he would allow little credit toFielding, but claimed immortality for Richardson.
"Oh, sir, pardon me," he said to one who attributed the greater meritto the former writer. "Pardon me. The characters and the situations ofFielding are so wretchedly low and dirty that I cannot imagine any onebeing interested in them. There is, I admit, some strength of humour inhim, but he hath over-written himself. I doubt he is a strong hulkingsort of man."
"But, sir," said Lady Levett, "we ladies like men to be strong andhearty as becomes a man. You surely do not mean that every big man musthave low tastes."
"The mind and the body are united," said the little poet, "theyinfluence one another. Thus, in a weak frame we find delicacy, and ina strong frame, bluntness. Softness and tenderness of mind are oftenremarkable in a body possessed of the same qualities. Tom Jones couldget drunk on the night of his uncle's recovery--no doubt Mr. Fieldingwould manifest his joy in the same manner."
He went on to assure us that Lady Bellaston was an intimate friend ofMr. Fielding's; that Booth was himself; Tom Jones, again, himself;Amelia his first wife; his brawls, gaols, sponging-houses, and quarrelsall drawn from his own personal experience.
"He who associates with low companions, ladies," concluded theex-prisoner of the Fleet, "must needs himself be low. Taste consortsonly with tasteful persons."
"Should not a lady be beautiful, Mr. Stallabras?" asked a bystander. "Ialways supposed so, but since a man is not to be strong, perhaps I waswrong."
"Sir!" Mr. Stallabras drew himself up to his fall height, and hisfingers closed upon the roll of proof-sheets as if it had been asword-hilt. "Sir! all ladies--who have taste--are beautiful. I amready to be the champion of the sex. Some are more beautiful thanothers,"--here he raised his eyes to me and sighed. "Some flowers aremore beautiful than others. The man of taste loves to let his eyes reston such a pleasing object,"--here two young gentlemen winked at eachother--"she is a credit to her sex. When goodness is joined to suchbeauty, as is the case with----" Here he looked at me and hesitated.
"Oh!" cried Nancy, "say with _me_, Mr. Stallabras, or Miss PeggyBaker."
"May I say Miss Pleydell?" he asked, with a comprehensive smile."There, indeed, is all Clarissa, and the heart of sensibility, incontemplating her perfections, reverts to the scenes of our divineRichardson."
The Chaplain of the Fleet Page 26
